


A Man's Heart

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character studies, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mourning, One Shot, malnessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "I put the photograph in the drawer because I couldn't bear it. It broke my heart. Not a young girl's heart, Vanessa, a man's heart." - Season One, Grand Guignol.Vanessa tends to Sir Malcolm, such as he is, in his drunken despair.





	A Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HomunculusTrashParty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/gifts).



Drunk and drowned in despair, he’d fallen asleep in his study again. 

Vanessa discovered him thus. 

On this particular night, she found him slumped over his desk, his fist smashed square center in the broken glass of the framed photograph of Mina and Peter. Blood pooled into the cracks and spread out like crimson ink against the image below. “Oh, Malcolm,” she breathed and quickly found a handkerchief in her pocket. She lifted his hand off the picture and examined it. She would need to flush out the wound to make sure it did not contain any shards of glass, but she wanted to get him to his bed first. 

Sembene was no longer here to help her. 

She sighed heavily at the task before her. Gently, she nudged his shoulder. He snorted and stirred, then looked up at her with red ringed eyes. “Hello, Vanessa,” he offered, dazed and disoriented. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” she said. She slipped her shoulder under his arm and helped to steady him as he rose. He did not fight her. He never did. Those days were long past. But he was still proud. This she knew. And she knew, drunk as he was, he would not allow her to help her with a chamberpot. “Would you like to use the commode before you retire?” She asked, trying to be as discreet as possible. 

“Please,” he agreed. She helped him to the toilet and steadied him so he could relieve himself into it. He did not seem to notice her presence as he emptied his bladder of its brandy filled contents in a steady and surprisingly exact stream. He slumped against her again when he was finished, having forgotten to button himself back up. No matter, she would undress him for bed anyway; the buttons of his trousers would merely be one less step for her. 

They wove their way into his bedroom. “Sit on the edge,” she ordered and he plopped heavily down. Silently, she began the work of removing his shoes and clothes. When she came to his neck to untie his cravat and unbutton his shirt, he caught her hands in his. He looked up at her with his eyes that were unfocused and wet with tears. “My love, I hate to see you torture yourself like this,” Vanessa whispered. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them as he began to sob. She clutched his head to her chest and held him close. She stroked his hair and face. He’d not shaved and his beard was starting to grow back. The coarse stubble pleased her. He sniffled against her breast like a child. She reached to grab a handkerchief to wipe his nose, and remembered it was already tied around his hand. “Lie back. I need to look at your hand.” She gently pushed him back onto his pillows after extricating him from his shirt. 

Vanessa obtained a jug of water and a basin. She held his hand over the edge of the bed and ran the water over his hand to clean it. He winced as she wiped at the gash in his flesh, but he allowed her to examine and clean the wound. She found a fresh cloth and wrapped it around his fist. His head rolled against the pillow and his eyes managed to focus on her. “We are here, are we not?”

“Yes,” she said. Her lips twitched in a sad smile. “We are here.” She bent and brushed a kiss onto his temple. He surprised her by wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Her cheek landed on the bare skin of his chest. He stroked her back and neck and his fingers fumbled into her hair. She’d learned, during the past weeks, when he was intoxicated and inconsolable, it comforted him to play with her hair. Resting her hand flat against his breast, next to her cheek, she allowed his caresses. Truthfully, the sensation rather lulled her as well. She almost could have fallen asleep with him, but she was concerned he would be cold if she did not stoke the fire and find him a nightshirt. She waited for his fingers to still and then stood. 

Into the fire, she tossed a couple large logs and she stirred the coals underneath. As she stared at the flames, she heard him speak. “I believe now that your heart is like mine, Vanessa. I am sorry I ever believed otherwise.” She turned to find him sitting up in his bed. She grabbed a nightshirt and returned to him. 

“Hush now,” she whispered as she pulled the shirt down over his head. He stuck his arms through the sleeves and again used them to embrace her. 

“Forgive me?” He begged.

“Yes, I forgive you.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he sighed and fell back against the pillows. 

For a time, Vanessa sat by his side and watched his chest rise and fall as he slept. His mouth was partly open and he snored lightly. Vanessa pulled the covers up around him and checked to make certain he was not bleeding through the bandage she’d wrapped around his hand. When she was assured he was as comfortable as could be, she bent and lightly kissed his lips, lingering for a moment to breathe his breath. Then she rose and went back to his study to peel the photograph out of its broken shell, to try to salvage whatever she could of its stained remains.

**Author's Note:**

> A little short story dedicated to my dear HTP as a sincere thank you for so many wonderful and encouraging comments. . . xoxo.


End file.
